Fanfic Angel and Dazzler 2 Warren Redux
by Truedarkhunter
Summary: This is the Angel and Dazzler companion piece from Warren's P-O-V. I recommend reading the two together. This is set in an alternate universe where Angel lost his wings but did not get turned into the Angel of Death. So no blue skin. And Dazzler did not go off with Longshot, rather she toured in Europe singing, but never went for the "big time". Try it, I'll bet you will love it.
1. Chapter 1

Fanfic Angel and Dazzler 2 Warren Redux

Author's Note: I'm really looking for feedback on this piece. The only way I can improve is by critique and this is a new genre for me. So that's where you come in. Red pen this story to death! As you know, I don't own the characters, Marvel does. And if you really like this, you can always suggest the next X-Men movie have more of these to in it. ;) However, the story itself, once I have perfected it, will be altered so that I can use it in my own works with my own characters. But it is a lot easier to learn a new style of writing and to accept criticism by using someone else's sandbox. This said, I am enclosing the first page of the early version prior to the later version for comparison. Also, there is the companion piece to this one written from Alison's point of view. Check them both out and see if the dialogue sounds realistic for both sexes. (Oh, and I had to edit the actual main scene for content. Hopefully it won't break the flow overly.) And without further ado, let me introduce you to the other half of the best fanfic never read on the net.

Old version:

Alison and Warren rode the elevator up to his penthouse suite. In the past, he had simply flown women to his walkout patio garden that led into his bedroom. But that had been before the battle with the Marauders in the Morlock tunnels, before Harpoon shattered his wings and hung him up by them. And it was long before his real ones were amputated, replaced after a long recovery by metal ones courtesy of Stark Industries.

He took his key from the lock as the elevator doors swung open to his suite. He let Alison look around while he stripped out of his specialized suit coat and silk shirt. He hung them on a hanger in the bathroom along with his tie and went out to the kitchen.

Alison was across the way, leaning on a couch and gazing out at the lights of the city and the harbor of New York. He had to admit it was stunning. That's why this spot ran a cool $25 million. But he didn't buy it for the view. He bought it so that he could fly. This location was full of windows, and being close to the bay he could see most anything coming from a mile away.

His time in the X-men had garnered him more than a few enemies, as had his family because of the success of their holdings. Not to mention that he woke up screaming if he was in too enclosed a space still. Xavier had offered to help him but he couldn't let his mentor know how close he had been to killing himself. He used alcohol to knock himself out at night most of the time. Then he used it to get through the dark, depressing days. In truth, he knew he was just taking the slow route out.

With the hope of new wings he had managed to cut back on the drinking and pulled himself together enough to start an intensive exercise regime. The new wings were heavy things and he had to build up strength if he was to have even a chance at flying again. So the rigorous training began and Warren fought hard to earn those new wings. And he had done it. The grafting process had been painful and the recovery was longer than he liked, but he was finally back in the skies again.

However, he was still new to the wings and although he could handle flying himself around, he wasn't sure he could handle the stress of carrying someone else for any real distance. Thus, here he was forced to use the elevator, grounded again.

But tonight wasn't for dwelling on misery. He was here, at last, alone with Alison. She was the one that had gotten away, the one he truly desired. He needed to banish the dark thoughts and get his game on. He planned to give her the night of her life very soon so that she'd regret having waited so long to fall into his arms.

He uncorked the decanter and selected a cut crystal lowball glass. "Do you want a drink?" Warren asked Alison. It had been some time since he had last entertained anyone. He needed to remember his manners. He had just selected a second glass when Alison walked over to him and enfolded him in her arms from behind. He set the glass and decanter down so he wouldn't drop them from the shock of it. Alison had usually played more coy in the past and it had been so long since someone other than a doctor had touched him that it surprised him.

New version:

Fake reviews from actual authors:

"Best use of font I've seen. And the margins…!" Jim C. Hines

"Best fan-fiction I've never read." heather l. nelson

"…" Wolfgang Diehr

Alison and Warren rode the elevator up to his penthouse suite. Warren was disgusted with being earthbound yet again. He wanted to carry Alison to the patio garden that led into his bedroom as he had with women in the past. But his metal wings were too new for him to carry a passenger that long. Yet he still longed to fly with her and to show her his world.

"We're here." He took his key from the lock as the elevator doors swung open to reveal his suite.

"Wow, the view from here is amazing," he heard her say as she stepped into the main living area.

"Go ahead and enjoy it. I'll join you in a minute." He let Alison look around while he stripped out of his specialized suit coat, silk shirt, and his tie. He hung them on a hanger in the bathroom and strode into the kitchen.

Alison was across the way, leaning on a couch and gazing out the windows at the reflection of the city in the water. "I don't think I've seen the harbor from this high up. New York seems so peaceful when you see it from afar. The lights really do beckon, don't they?" He knew the view was stunning, that's why the location was expensive even for a Worthington. But he didn't buy it for the view. He bought it so that he could fly. That and the fact that he could see almost anything coming from a mile away made the place attractive to him.

"Perhaps they do for a singer, like you. I prefer keeping a distant vantage point when I can," Warren replied. "Things can get really ugly when you are on street level." He knew from personal experience just how ugly things could get. The attack in the Morlock tunnels that left him impaled by his natural wings still haunted his nightmares. Only the promise of flight via the metal wings created by Stark industries kept him from killing himself. Warren shook his head to clear it of dark thoughts. He wanted to show his better side to Alison. He uncorked a decanter and selected a cut crystal lowball glass. "Do you want a drink?" Warren asked. It had been a long time since he last entertained anyone up here; he needed to remember his manners.

He pulled out a second glass for her when suddenly she walked over to him and enfolded him in her arms from behind. He set the glass and decanter down so he wouldn't drop them from the shock of it. Her body leaned against his as she strained to nibble on his ear. His wings and increased muscle mass made that a difficult feat. He felt her breath warm on his neck as she said to him, "I think I would rather have something else entirely."

Amused, he felt a grin starting as he tipped his head to the side to encourage her. He expected to just have a couple of drinks tonight and to win her over at a later date. Although he didn't mind the idea of something more tonight, he needed to be certain they were on the same page. "Well tell me then, Alison, what do you want?"

She took his hand and backed away, gently pulling him along after her. "I thought you'd like to show me the part of the house that didn't have windows," she said, her eyes whispering promises as she led him towards a distant door. She impressed him with her guess as to which door held his bedroom, but she clearly didn't realize how much a winged mutant desired a quick egress.

"You won't find many spots like that here, except maybe the bathroom," he said, chuckling.

Alison's face grew pensive and her pace slowed. "You're laughing at me." His words had managed to wound her. Some gentleman he was.

"No, no, I'm not, I promise. It's just that I picked this place because it has windows all the way around. I like to see trouble coming in advance," he said, trying to recover the mood. He sped up and wrapped his arms around Alison's waist, "Here, let me get the door for you." Alison jumped a bit at his unexpected move but her curiosity drew her eyes into the bedroom beyond. He watched as she took in the dark blue tones of the room and the triangular wall sconces that gave off a soft, dim light so that the city lights beyond were visible in the darkness. The view here was always soothing to him. Warren hoped that she would like it just as much.

"Look at this room! I wouldn't have thought you were so fond of blue."

"Well now you know," he replied.

However, her eyes settled on the lower, single grey bed and she glanced over her shoulder at him, "What's the second bed for? Do you have some sort of living arrangement with someone?"

He needed to explain it to her but he choked on the words. No one else knew what his new wings cost him, but she deserved the truth. "Since I had the metal wings bonded to me, I can't sleep on my back without tearing up a normal bed. So I had a smaller, more durable bed made for the nights I need a break from sleeping on my stomach." He glanced away from her a bit. He didn't want to see pity or sorrow in her eyes.

Instead, he felt her turn inside the circle of his arms. When he met her eyes she said, "I'm glad you found a way out of your dilemma. I take it the large bed is more for recreation these days?" He let out the breath he was holding. Her eyes held no pity or revulsion at his revelation. He felt a weight lift off of his shoulders.

Warren turned her around the rest of the way so that she could see his face and he could clearly see hers. He looked down into those bright, sky blue eyes and leaned in close to her. "Well, it hasn't seen much recreation lately," Warren said smiling. "But perhaps you would like to change that?" A small, sweet smile crossed her face. Desire, so long dormant, flared once more. Hope and a wild, desperate longing seized him.

He hadn't felt desire for anyone since he lost Candy. Cameron Hodge, his traitorous friend, tried to kill him and when he failed he opted to kill his girlfriend Candy in front of him instead. From that day to this, grief had been his constant companion. He used alcohol to knock himself out at night. Then he used it to get through the dark, depressing days. In truth, he knew that he was just taking the slow train out. With the hope of flight he pulled himself out of his drinking spiral enough to get in shape so that he could bear the weight of the heavy wings. But gone were the feathered wings that made women swoon. There was nothing beautiful about these new ones. He felt like an anomaly among misfits. He needed physical contact, someone who could accept who he was, scars and all. Oh, sweet Alison, if only…

Whenever confusion, worry, or fear came over him, he moved. It was part of his training in the Danger Room. A moving target was harder to hit and it was better to do something rather than nothing. Or at least that's what his trainer, Wolverine, claimed. Those reflexes didn't shut off just because Warren wasn't in the field. Warren stepped past Alison and made a graceful turn at the foot of the bed. He extended an arm out to her with a flourish. It was a pose that had served him well in the past.

Alison's smile grew warmer and she came to him. He wrapped her in his arms, vowing to not let go this time.

With a care to not overwhelm her, Warren pressed his hands gently on Alison's shoulders until she lay back onto the down comforter. He enjoyed seeing her there at last. He touched her knee and when she did not pull away or gasp he slid his hands down her leg, feeling the curve of her muscle beneath the softness of her skin. With a skilled touch he quickly, but deftly removed her shoes for her. He was about to join her on the bed when she spoke saying, "Warren, could you get the curtains, please? I wasn't planning on performing for all of New York tonight." Personally, Warren thought it was New York's loss, but got up to close the light outer curtain. It was enough to give a sense of privacy but still allowed the light to come in. He didn't want to wake up screaming in the middle of the night, especially not with a guest here at last.

Warren walked over to join her on the bed again when she held up a hand for him to stop. He cocked his head questioningly, and she said, "Do you have any music? I would appreciate it." Of course Dazzler would want a bit of music around. Her powers ran off of it. He considered putting in one of her cd's, but if it was for defense he remembered that Dazzler couldn't use her own voice to create light beams or something like that. And if it was simply for background, it might seem weird to her to make love to the sound of her own voice. So he grabbed the remote from the wall cubby and flicked on the stereo system. Soft rock soon began to fill the room. Her reasons for wanting it really didn't matter. Warren could appreciate needing to keep a few demons down.

He gave her a slightly sardonic glance before asking in a joking way, "Will this suffice, my lady?" At her nod, he slid back down beside her. Her cool fingers played over his chest and her gaze wandered across his bare skin. Just this simple touch seared him and drew out a fierce and deep longing. He snaked a hand under her arm and laid the palm of his hand across her back in turn and drew her to him for a kiss. And oh, how good it felt.

He inhaled the scent of her mingled with her perfume. He felt the strength of her reaction to his kiss and knew she felt the power of it as well. He wanted her so much. Warren reminded himself to slow down and laid down a line of kisses across her neck and shoulder. Alison's breathing quickened at his touch and he pulled his face back along her skin to look at her. He caught her wince and tears were at the corners of her eyes. He rubbed his chin and felt the stubble sharp against his palm. Oh good grief, Warren, he thought. He glanced down at her and said, "It's not that bad is it? I can go and shave if..." He said it with as much nonchalance as he could muster, keeping his voice light. In truth, he was about ready to kick himself. Yeah, some suave moves you got there, Warren.

His darkening thoughts halted when she said, "No. No, that's not it Warren." She managed to smile at him although tears still wet her eyelashes.

"Well then, what is it? Do you want to stop?" He managed to choke out the words even though his heart sank. His gaze dropped to the floor. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her again. What the hell was his whole life cursed?

Her voice cut into his thoughts and he heard her say, "No, I've just wanted this for so long, it's hard to believe it's happening. That I'm here with you, that you really want me, too…" Her words cut off suddenly and he glanced over to see her covering her mouth as if to take the words back, her eyes were round with shock. So that was it? Ah, his old reputation had preceded him. Alison had been away for nearly 6 years. She didn't know that he had given up playing the field once he met Candy. Nor that he would have done the same for her. Well, this was one thing he could fix. He thanked whatever deities were watching over him for giving him the chance to set things aright.

His heart returned to its post and the dark clouds of his thoughts dissipated almost as fast as they arrived. He gave her his best devil-may-care grin and said, "Oh, so that's what you were worried about?" He timed his words to distract her while his right hand undid the hook and zipper holding his pants closed. "Well, Alison," he said as he let them fall to the floor. He tensed. When her eyes followed he movement of the fabric he leaped onto the bed and straddled her body in a single fluid movement and leaned down until there was no more than an inch of space between her and him and then whispered into her ear. "I've always wanted you. You're the one who broke things off, remember?" He could feel her squirming beneath him from the suddenness of his approach, but she stilled at his words. He knew the truth could hurt so he tried to take any sting out of the words by adding, "So I had better make this one count, eh?" And with that he leaned back and simply gazed down upon the beauty before him. Her hair was a lot shorter than it had been, but she managed to look as good in it as she ever had with it long. Her eyelashes were already beginning to dry, turning from a brown back into golden blonde.

He reached back into the cubbyhole and brought out a set of condoms that he kept in easy reach. "Do you want me to use these?" he asked her, holding them up so that she could see the gold packets for herself. She paused for a few heartbeats before answering.

"Only if you want to, I'm covered," she said and then blushed. It looked adorable on her. It seemed that his dear Dazzler wasn't used to talking about these things with her lovers. He wondered if it had been awhile for her as well. He stared at the condoms for a moment wondering just how old they were. Years probably, he realized, and the odds were good that they were not going to be reliable. He decided to take her at her word and dropped them to the floor. He moved so that he straddled her right thigh only; he didn't intend to start into the main event just yet. Instead he pulled another of his favorite moves and placed his fingers in a ring around her right arm and drew them down its length as he leaned back away from her.

He proceeded to give feather-light kisses to each of her fingertips. He closed his eyes to savor the feel and taste of her when she suddenly began to wiggle oddly. She wasn't trying to get away, he knew that, but he had no idea what she wanted to achieve other than to break his concentration.

"Just _what_ are you doing?" he said, his words ringing out sharply even as his voice sank to an octave between rising anger and desire. The tone was harsher than he meant it but at least she stopped moving before she kneed him.

"Uh, I thought I should be doing a little more for you, you know," she replied. He took a few breaths to calm the vestiges of rage that tended to come out far too often after he lost his wings. He struggled to contain it, to keep from bringing it into the bedroom. He realized his grip had tightened on her arm to the point of becoming painful. Once he mastered his composure he relaxed his hold and glanced up at her, his face still hovering over her hand.

"Let me do this for you, Alison. I'm very good at it, I promise you. And I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you right now." And he knew it was true. Anger and passion wove a very tight line punctuated by the underlying fear that she would reject him after the loss of his wings, just as he had. He didn't want her to discover just how broken he had become lest she turned away. He needed her, and he wanted her, more than ever before. He had just this one chance to convince her there was something still worthwhile in him. He had only one chance to prove it to himself again as well.

Driven on by this new insight, he bent back to the task at hand. Kissing her wrist at the pulse point, he licked it with the very tip of his tongue. He blazed a line of kisses all the way up her arm and felt her shivers of pleasure. He stole a glance sideways at her and smiled to see her eyes were closed and her cheeks flush. Then he traced the path back again. Her eyes flickered open when he stopped. But she sighed as he poised himself over her and closed in to kiss her again on the lips.

She was clearly starting to relax and enjoy the moment with him. It seemed a shame to stop but he needed something before they could go farther. "Aren't you a bit overdressed?" he asked, his voice husky and rough even to his ears as he fingered the fabric of her shirt.

"Mmm, yeah, I guess you're right," she said as she glanced down. Warren took each of her hands by the fingertips and lifted her upright with ease. Having done pushups for months with only the tips of his fingers, her slight weight was not even a strain. He watched her as she pulled off her light blue top emblazoned with her trademark star and slipped his hands behind her as she focused on her jeans. By the time they fell, with her underwear following, he had her bra clasp undone and was lifting the straps free of her arms.

"You're a bit forward aren't you?" she said, grinning.

He smiled back, "You never get anywhere in this world if you don't go after what you want." He pulled the bra the rest of the way off before she could voice further protest. In his experience, getting past this part quickly led to the best results, and it was the same with Alison. She didn't try to cover herself, but simply lay back as she was. He drank in the sight of her.

"You're beautiful Ali. You should have gone for a more revealing costume." He imagined her top with the star cut out and wished he saw more of her body back in their training days. He leaned his head down to nuzzle her neck when he felt her slap his shoulder playfully.

"I wanted to be discovered for my talent, not for my curves, Mr. Worthington."

He moved so that he could answer her clearly. "Mr. Worthington? You pick the oddest times to become formal, dear. As for curves..." so saying, he took her hand and placed it against the dark fabric of his briefs.

"Well, I suppose fair's fair," Alison replied and he felt her pull his briefs down suddenly. She even tried to work them free, but the task was beyond her in their current entangled position. He was impressed that she had done as well as she had.

"You could have just asked. I would have been happy to strip them off for you," he said, half jesting.

"Where's the fun in that?" she replied and pulled his head down to her chest. She caught him off-guard and his body surged with need, leaving him weak for a moment. He faltered, his body dipping down to touch hers before he could prop himself up again on his arms. "You're no shy blossom, are you Alison? That's good. I like a woman who knows what she wants." Gaining control of himself once more he began to place a row of fiery, damp kisses under her chin. Then he blew a cool breath across them and watched her arch at the sensation, all of her words gone. She was lost in the moment.

When she could speak, at last, she surprised him. "What I want is you, Warren." The words were thick with her answering need. Warren planned to linger, to make it last. But a true gentleman always acquiesced to the desires of his lady.

He leaned his weight on one side so that he could see if she were truly ready. It seemed she was so he simply said, "Already? Well then, take me." He sat back on the bed, freeing her body. Realizing her need he kneeled on the bed and sat back on his heels, pulling her gently up after him with only his fingertips. He wrapped his hands around her waist, and then guided her gently, his hands and arms bearing her weight for her so that she could go at the pace she desired instead of all at once. He could hear her gasp in delight. The feeling was so good after so long that he had trouble focusing and his breath escaped him as his head fell back and his eyes closed as he allowed himself to savor the moment. As they sat entwined he could feel her lips upon his and he kissed her back.

A quiver of ecstasy passed through her and into him. She leaned down and began to kiss him more frantically, along his jaw, his lips, even his nose. But he felt her hands straying over his back and halted. She spoke before he could, "What's the matter? Do your wings still hurt?"

Grief welled up in him briefly, "More than you could ever know." He took a steadying breath and partially spread one wing. Prying open a sharp-bladed metallic feather he drew one of her fingers along the flat, near the wickedly sharp edge. Then shook his head as he kissed the finger and said, "Have a care, they're sharp." Folded up, the wings usually did not cause a problem, but he feared their exertions could cause her to cut herself. And that would be unforgivable for him to allow. He wanted to bring her pleasure, not cause her pain. He waited to make sure she heard and understood the risk.

Finally, she responded with "I understand, I'll-I'll be careful." Only then did he resume his efforts and he allowed a sigh of relief and enjoyment to escape him. Her hands moved past the scarred skin tissue where the wings joined his back and he could feel her body growing taut. She whimpered and she cried out wordlessly as the first orgasm broke over her. Then he stopped for a moment to cradle her head in his hands and to keep from peaking as well. He held her until her blue eyes opened and looked into his and then he began once more. He could feel a tension building in her again. He hoped that he could keep going long enough to bring her passion to fruition once again, but his own was coming soon he knew.

She shuddered against him, and he knew he had succeeded. He gave himself over to his own passion at last. He automatically swept his wings out as he did so, but caught himself before he attempted to envelope Alison within them. It was something that he did for all the women who had wanted to "sleep with an angel". They wanted to feel those huge, white wings enclose them. But his metal ones would cut her terribly. He stopped himself just in time, spreading them wide so that they draped on either side of the bed instead.

He opened his eyes to a beautiful, almost eerie sight of sea green rings of light cascading across his ceiling only to shatter upon the shining metal of his wings to form spots that chased each other down the walls. He wondered what he had done to draw out such an amazing response from her as he slowed down. His own orgasm overtook him, burying him under waves of exquisite release.

The dying refrains of "I Drove All Night" drifted over him and had probably powered Dazzler's personal light show. It looked quite soothing, actually, although a little warning would have been appreciated. He stopped at last and leaned in closer to kiss her. He traced the outline of her body with one hand while supporting some of his weight on the other. He tried not to lie directly on her lest the weight of his body and wings proved to be too much for her comfort. But despite his concerns and fears, it had been wonderful. And he didn't want to go back to the depression, the drinking, and the darkness. He wanted to be with her, here in the light. Coming to that conclusion, he pressed on while the moment felt right and said, "Ali, never leave me."

"Okay," came the soft reply, and she brushed his hair out of his eyes as he settled on his side, closing his wings up carefully and hanging them off of the side of the bed. He buried his head against her shoulder and felt like daylight had finally come into his life after a long period of rain. If only she could help him, if only she would stay, he would lay his world at her feet. He drifted off to sleep in the arms of the woman he had loved so long ago and still loved now, his own, his sweet, Alison.


	2. Warren Redux Chapter 2

Fanfiction Warren's Redux Chapter 2

Warren felt Alison stirring next to him and felt a sense of panic. She wasn't going to just slip out the door was she?! His mind tried to pull the pieces of the night before together. He had asked her to stay. And he knew in his heart that he really did want her to stay with him still. But Alison didn't handle pressure well, the light of day may have made her change her mind. His eyes fluttered a bit and fought him as he tried to open them to see what was going on.

She was sitting up on the bed, golden sunlight flowing over her curves. Her fingers were in her hair and her body bounced gently as she worked to get her hair back into its original form. He warmed to the sight. Acting quickly, he reached out and touched her arm, drawing her attention back down to him.

"Stay. Please?" he managed to get out. His eyes weren't quite ready to keep their focus but he tried to smile for her anyway. He didn't want her to leave without at least saying goodbye. In truth he didn't want her to leave at all.

Seeing him awake seemed to do the trick, she slid back down beside him, closer than before, tantalizingly close, but too far away still for him to be able to scoop her into his arms without his wings slicing into the mattress, which would probably ruin everything. "You know, I do have to get ready for work sometime, right? And besides, I probably have morning breath," she said softly, a hint of playful admonishment in her tone. Then she smiled at him and his breath caught for a moment. Dazzler was truly a dazzling sight when she smiled. Baser instinct was proving a boon for a change, getting his blood pumping and waking him up, although he wasn't certain Alison would be quite as pleased. But nothing had to happen if she didn't want it to. Warren felt alive again and the day held promise like it hadn't since his wings were taken from him. It was enough.

Looking over at her, he said, "Well, I suppose that's true. Do you want to use the tub upstairs or would you care to join me in my specialized shower? I promise you it's an experience like no other." Taking a gamble, he got up and stretched, letting the sunlight play over his body and ruffling his metal wings to really show off. If Alison regretted anything or found his wings and scars abhorrent in the light of day, he might as well find out now and get it over with. But her eyes didn't look away, rather they followed the metal as it settled back into place, and then dropped even lower. Finally, he spoke up, "Enjoying the view, are we?" Seeing her evident interest amused him and made him feel bolder. And that was before she started to blush!

"Oh, aren't you adorable when you blush? No need to blush on my account, dear Alison, me casa es tu casa, as am I if you wish. But I will admit, I'm not body shy. I hope it is something you can live with." He sincerely hoped she would say she wanted him, and came around to her side of the bed, bowing slightly and proffering a hand to assist her. He couldn't easily rest his other behind his back properly, but he kept it to his side instead and hoped it would still look as good.

Alison studied him a moment more before giving him a quirky little smile and stating, "I think I can handle it. There isn't much privacy in a changing room with a band, you know." Then she took his hand without hesitation and slid free of the covers. The sunlight draped her body making her look like she was made of light herself. But he kept his voice even and returned her volley with a bit of teasing of his own.

"Oh-ho, I suppose that's true. And I guess we have some catching up to do, don't we? And that means that blush was all for me." He tried to keep his banter light, but emotion thickened his voice as he added, "That makes it all the more special. And you are special, my darling Alison." And he meant every word. She had no idea what last night meant to him. Life was flight but life still had no meaning until she came and reminded him what it was for. He didn't think he had it in him to find love again after Candy died, was murdered, he corrected himself. He realized belatedly that Alison was watching and his face probably had his pain and anger written all over it. Stupid. Get it together, Warren.

He dropped his gaze for a moment and heard her say, "You are wonderful Warren. And I think I would like to see this 'amazing' shower of yours. Lead on." His heart rose and he locked the dusty memories away for now. Pain waited for him every second. Joy did not. He let it bubble up in him at the prospect of sharing a shower with this marvelous woman before him. He led her to the bathroom situated near the elevator where he left his shirt and tie the night before. They still sat neatly on their hanger, reminding him that last night wasn't a dream.

He walked up to the glass double doors of the shower, and offered Alison his hand so she could step into the space beyond to stand near the bench that matched the black granite walls of the room. The shower itself took up half the space. He reached into some shelves and brought out his black towels for himself and set them out then he brought out the rarely used deep blue guest towels and laid them alongside his own. It gave him a sense of satisfaction to see them sitting there, side by side. But if he wanted to see them stay that way, he needed to handle things just right. And that meant pulling on some knowledge long dormant. Turning around he held up a luffa and a washcloth up for her inspection and approval. She pointed at the luffa so he neatly laid the washcloth back on the stack and stepped inside the shower, closing the doors behind him.

The multiple showerheads were aligned for his use, but he knew where the spray tended to hit from each one. Since Alison stood a bit shorter he didn't want the sprays to hit her in uncomfortable ways. He spoke to her at last and said, "Go ahead and have a seat on the bench over there. I apologize that I don't have any body washes that have a more feminine scent. As I said, it's been some time since I've entertained a guest." He turned towards the controls on the back wall and began to program in the routine he wanted and the proper temperatures he thought would work best for them both. It bothered him to be so unprepared for this moment. Any little thing could ruin the delicate framework of the relationship they started. He wanted it all to be perfect for her and already one detail had gone awry.

His worry must have communicated itself to her in his posture or expression because he heard her say, "Don't worry about it, it's fine." He nodded and let it go. She wasn't going to bolt over not having a floral scented body wash or shampoo. He should really give her more credit than that. They all faced far worse deprivations while under the watchful eye of Wolverine in Australia. Alison wasn't an over-pampered debutant, she was an X-man, beautiful and strong, and he desperately wanted her in his life. One more button press and the shower sprang to life.

He wanted to get the actual absolutions out of the way so he could get any grime off of his wings and his body before planning on anything more exciting for them. "Stay where you are for a moment, okay? I want to get my wings wet." When she nodded he turned his face up to the spray and let it run down his chest, wings, and back. He stretched his wings out as far as he dared, and let the water pelt them.

"Could you hand me the shampoo over there? No, not that one, the other one. Thanks." Alison handed the bottle over and he lathered up his scalp and chest with it. The body wash was fine, but he preferred to use the conditioning shampoo when he expected to have the softness of his hair come into play. Next he picked up the white luffa he used for himself. He wasn't sure how she would respond since she would see exactly the extent of his scars, not to mention being very close to the imposing blades of his wings, but there was something she could do for him that he could not. "Would you do my back?" he asked, almost shyly. "I can never really reach it the way I'd like."

"Sure," she responded and he felt her take the luffa from his hand and step behind him. He heard her fiddle with the cap to the gel and waited a long moment, unable to see what she was doing. Just when he started to wonder if he should try to carefully turn around he felt the pressure of her hands on his back, the luffa making lazy circles on his skin. His muscles relaxed under her ministrations and he couldn't contain the little moan of contentment that escaped him. He had tried various things to reach the middle of his back, but most of them wound up clipped by his wings or being insufficient to get quite all the spots. Alison's hands were amazing. It was like having an itch that you could never scratch and finally getting relief. Things were going well and then she stepped closer. The heat of her skin was palpable over the cascade of water, so close was her body to his, but still not touching. He didn't want to startle her but she was in a dangerous position.

He couldn't see her and if he reacted too much his muscles might cause the wings to flutter open…right against her naked skin. No one stood there that wasn't attacking him, even though he was quite aware that this was anything but an attack. He tried to focus, little shudders running up and down his body as he tried to keep control. "Am I distracting you?" she asked, her voice sweet innocence itself.

"N…no, not at all," he replied, stuttering. His control slipping as he wondered what she was planning next.

"So you don't mind if I move a little lower?"

Oh God.

He couldn't let on that there was any danger. It might drive her away for good. He had to keep calm and keep his tone light. "It wouldn't bother me at all," he said at last hoping he could hold it together. The tips of the wings were the most dangerous. They could extend in length and sweep farther outward, and inward, than the tops.

Unable to see what was coming his senses heightened to her touch, which only exacerbated the problem. He felt every hair follicle she brushed against as she ran the luffa lightly all the way down his spine. The sensation overwhelmed him and he gasped and staggered sideways, throwing his hand out to catch himself as he hit the wall, hoping he didn't brush her with the wings.

"You okay?" she called, sounding uninjured.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he panted, then asked, "Are you?" in return.

"I'm fine, no harm done," came the reply. Warren managed to recall that Alison received the same field training they all did; she could probably handle herself with a mere dangerous object that wasn't actively trying to kill her. "Do you want me to finish?" she asked him, clearly concerned for him.

He couldn't let things end badly now, with the wall beside him for support he believed he could keep himself steady. So he called back to her, "Definitely, but just realize that your turn is next." Another long pause followed and he could hear the patter of her footsteps behind him in the dancing water. Suddenly she was back and working on his legs avidly. He held himself bound with invisible chains as the heavenly torture went on. Things were fine until she ran the luffa up his inner thigh right until it brushed a far more sensitive area. He bit back the gasp and held his wings as still as stone.

"Do you want me to do your front as well?" she asked with coy amusement.

"No thank you, I can handle my own front quite well, thanks." Warren replied sharply. "But I do believe it is your turn," he said, pent up desire and frustration lending a rough purr to his voice. He felt her step to the side and swept in a sudden, low half-turn, a defensive sweep brought on by the torture of holding back his reactions. He fought his training down and brought up the other luffa he had brought in for her. Crushed flat during his internal struggle, he plucked at it to give it some shape and turned away to the supplies on the bench. Stepping into a more normal routine helped dissipate some of his stirred up emotions. Some, but not all.

He put on his boardroom face in an attempt to hide the darker stirrings underneath that warred with delighted desire and said coolly, "Turn around for me and put your hands against the glass, if you would my dear." She looked a bit startled at his request, but quickly complied nonetheless. Warren checked that the spray was running down her back just the way he wanted before letting loose a little. Gripping the luffa firmly he made a sudden and harsh swipe diagonally along her back. He heard her surprised gasp and, as the cool water immediately quenched the heat of the mark, said, "That's for being so naughty." Then he bent down and laid the softest of kisses all along the path of the swipe he made. His fear and anger cooled and his desire rose as he did so. Fully in control of the situation, he opted to give the job his proper attention and began scrubbing Alison's back with the luffa.

He was nearing her lower back when she suddenly spoke, saying, "Warren, could you be a little more gentle?" Glancing, he could see that her skin was lightly pink where he had rubbed it, not the angry shade of the swipe but more than he intended. Alison wasn't made of leather or facing the elements like he was. He mentally cursed himself. You'd think he'd remember things like that by now. Breathing in, he started again, slower, lighter and said, "I apologize, love, let me make up for it." Leaning against her back, he ran the luffa over her right arm and felt her muscles tense in surprise. Unhurriedly, he switched hands and brought the luffa down her left arm, over her back, and switched off again to drag it along the underside of her right arm and brought it gently over her chest with exquisite slowness until she couldn't take it anymore. As he expected. Now she was caught between the sensation of him and the luffa as he repeated it on the other side, slowly crossing her belly with the luffa to ending in the same spot she had with him.

He hooked the loop for the luffa over his wrist and continued to explore her body until he felt her jump a little from his touch. He wanted to take her then and there but he didn't know what protections she was using and whether or not she needed to renew them first. "Is it safe for me to do this?" he asked, knowing she could feel him against her. "Are you protected still or do you want me to stop?"

"I'm covered, are you safe?" she asked in reply. It was an interesting and important question that they should probably have gone over last night. He hoped she was asking as a formality at this point, but you never knew.

He nuzzled her neck and kissed each bump along her spine there before responding. "I'm fine, I guess I should ask the same of you first."

"Me too, I've always, ah…" she gasped as he continued his attentions upon her, "always been careful," she finished.

"Then may I?" he asked, the coolness of the water doing nothing to dim his ardor.

Then he heard it, a trembling yes that ended in a sigh as he allowed himself to give into his desire. Then took the luffa in is left hand and ran it over her chest again. He felt her writhe and back against him only to jump forward a little into the luffa, and moan as she felt the way he did earlier, trapped by pleasure on all sides.

He let the water cool her skin and then used his body to warm her back up as he moved against her. Finally, she cried out quietly, "Yes, please, please," and this bit of encouragement was too much for him to take and without warning he reached his release. He attempted to stay with her, trying to help her finish before he couldn't continue. It seemed to be enough as he heard her cry out "Yes, yes!" before trembling beneath his hands. He wrapped one arm under her, using the other to hold himself up, lest she fall.

They were both panting as they lay against the glass together and he kissed her hair saying, "You are amazing, Alison." When he was able to stand once more he rinsed himself off and then he gently turned her into the spray so she could finish rinsing off herself.

As he shut off the water she spoke up and said, "You were right, that was an amazing shower." He turned towards her and she smiled at him. His heart rose at the sight.

He opened the doors for her and offered his arm for support as they stepped out of the shower together. He chuckled and said, "I'm only sad that we both have to go to work!"

The days that followed were each wonderful and yet managed to blur together as well. He rearranged his appointments as she did her band practices so that they could see more of each other. He'd go to work, swing by and pick her up after her practice ended and then he'd take her out to eat. He often arranged early to get the restaurants to stay open later especially for them. Money did indeed talk and Warren decided to let it do the negotiating. He hadn't gone out to his old haunts much or any new ones in nearly five years. It was time to catch up on life again.

And he did so with a vengeance. Being with Alison made him feel alive; even his wings didn't do that. They made him whole but they didn't bring back a raison d'être. Alison did that and the force of his emotions was almost too much to bear each time he looked at her, each time they touched, each morning he awoke to find her still by his side.

He watched her pick up a breadstick as he mused on how their exertions had recently forced him to use the smaller bed to rest his back afterward. He smiled a bit unconsciously at the memory. But across the way, his lovely Alison looked displeased as she bit into the breadstick she was holding.

Snapping back to the present, Warren asked, "What's wrong? Is it too hot? Don't you like the blessing on it?"

In reply she said, "Blessing? Is that what the flavoring is?" He watched her contemplate the taste and wondered if the food was even on her mind. If not, what brought on that look? When she spoke again she said, "Of course you would give me a blessed piece of bread, you are an Angel after all." Her tone was light and she meant it as a joke but it cut him to the core and he physically winced away from the words. No, he wasn't.

Confusion and concern crossed her lovely face and Warren wished he didn't have to explain, at least not here, not right now. "I'm sorry," her voice filled with contrition reached his ears. His eyes were on the napkin in his lap. He didn't remember even dropping his gaze. "I was just joking. What's the matter?" she asked.

And there it was. He couldn't run from the truth all the time. And she deserved to be answered, but it still hurt. "No, it's not that, it's just," he began and twisted the napkin in his lap the way he felt twisted up inside. He continued trying to keep his voice steady, "Since I lost my wings I haven't felt like an Angel anymore. I haven't felt much of anything really." There it was. Did she understand how serious those simple words were? Could she comprehend the dark cloud that followed him and stole everything worthwhile from his life, leaving him a drained husk barely going through the motions? Some days he barely made it out of bed. Who was he kidding? He mostly lived on the couch curled around a bottle barely registering day turning to night. "Once Cypher helped me get these mechanical wings through his work at Stark industries, I've at least been able to fly again. But, I don't think my old codename suits me. I was young and naïve back then." Understatement of the year, he thought. "A lot has happened." Candy, his wings, his world, gone. "I'm finally picking up the pieces, and that's in no small part thanks to you."

His heart squeezed in his chest, the pain was bittersweet. Alison, do you see? Do you really understand what I am saying? The feelings were crashing inside him, crushing him, swallowing him, he took the wineglass and spun its liquid contents, sipping when he wanted to down it and just make it stop again for just a little while. But he couldn't. Alison was here and he had to start facing life again, and that included the sorrow, ugliness, and pain as well as the beauty, wonder, and joy. "I think with all the changes in my life, it's time for me to take a new codename," he concluded, watching her closely for her reaction to his words.

He could see her mulling it over. Come on, Alison. Please see what I am trying to say. The pain in his heart sang in him and relief stayed forbidden to him here. At last she reached over and took his hands, setting his glass aside before she spoke. "If that is what you want to do you should do it. You wouldn't be the first to grow out of a codename." She didn't get it. His heart sank a bit. "Look at Sprite. She finally settled on Shadowcat. Uh, she is still Shadowcat, right?"

He couldn't help but laugh at that and said, "Yes, she is still Shadowcat." A bemused smile came over him despite the quite war going on inside of him, such a strange feeling, wanting to smile even when hurting. But her mention of Shadowcat brought his mind back to the Professor, and his teammates, friends really, that he had abandoned and left in the dark all this time, worrying. If he was going to change his codename, it would only matter to those he used one with. And it would only have meaning if it meant he planned to become an active member once again. Did he really want that? Or did he want Professor Xavier to finally see him, advise him, help him? He never let Charles anywhere near him since he lost his wings. The man was a powerful telepath and an empath as well. It would kill him to know his poster boy for mutants wanted to kill himself. Charles wouldn't pry, but Warren knew how strongly he felt it before now. He would be screaming it to every sensitive in the mansion or on the grounds. But with Alison with him…maybe he could face Charles again, everyone again. "Perhaps it is time to visit the mansion again, don't you think?" He said at last, staring down his fears and making them blink.

Alison didn't answer. She looked at the ceiling instead of him. He tried to remember that it meant "upward reflection" and that it was a positive thing but his hands began to sweat as the silence dragged on. When her gaze returned to his, she licked her lips as though her mouth had gone dry. "Yes, I suppose it might be. But let's not rush over there. Let's take some time to catch up before we deal with everyone else."

"Fair enough," he said and snagged the glass back and drained its precious liquid. He wasn't sure he could come up with the courage to do it twice and Alison clearly didn't feel comfortable with the idea of seeing their friends again. She didn't plan to stay. She left the X-men, fled when she thought Wolverine died, and never returned. The team forged close bonds in the hell that was Australia under Wolverine's rigorous and pitiless training. He thought they meant more to her than that. Clearly not. But he had to make himself be more than a memory waiting to happen for her. If she left him now, he really would die. He couldn't go on without her. Love, need, codependence, whatever, he didn't care what anyone called it. All he knew was that with Alison, he could face the world again. Without her, he would close down again. Don't run away, Alison, please, his eyes sent to her. But Alison wasn't an empathic and she had to leave for band practice. All he could do was watch her go. A slow chill crawled up his spine as she walked away from the table and the waiter delivered the bill.

The next few hours filled up with frantic activity. There was no way Warren Worthington III would let Alison get away. He contacted his special personal assistant who assembled dossiers on people for him and sent him out immediately, much to the man's surprise. Then he contacted a shopping expert he used when his luggage got lost on a flight or when a special gift needed to be selected for a client or relative. He left her with a list of people to attend to and an expense account to purchase from and kept her on his payroll just to keep people out of his hair. She must be good because no none of the people she bought gifts for in his name bothered him while he retreated from the world. He dialed her number and hoped she wasn't out of town. The receiver on the other end picked up and a static-filled "Hello?" came from the other end.

Relief ran through him as he said, "Stacy? This is Warren Worthington III, and there's something special I need you to do tonight."

Warren directed the limousine driver to the location of the studio where Alison and her band mates practiced. Tension racked his nerves but his resolve didn't budge. He would win Alison over, no matter what. This fish would get hooked. The limousine pulled up to the curb where Alison stood chatting with the members of the band. Warren fought down his impatience and put on his best suave demeanor as the driver came around and opened the door for him.

He stepped out wearing a modified Armani pinstriped suit, his hair freshly styled. That had been an interesting experience, as his hair stylist hadn't had to deal with the new wings last time. He trusted her but nerves kept him wondering if it still looked as good as when he walked out. But Alison waited and he walked up to the group, a hush falling over the conversation as he approached. "Good evening gentlemen, ladies," he said into the air, nodding to them as they stared at him, round-eyed. At least a lifetime as a mutant prepared him for that. "Are you ready to go, Alison?" he asked. "I have something special in mind for us tonight."

"Uh, all right," she said a little warily before turning to her band mates. "Good practice, I'll see you on Friday, okay? Bye." Then she walked over and stepped into the limousine ahead of him not bothering to wait for his assistance. He followed, moving carefully to not damage the upholstery. He arranged the expendable cushions he brought to keep his wings off the leather interior and heard one of the gentlemen outside exclaim, "Well, I'll be damned, it was about a bloke," as the driver shut the door. Warren could guess the topic of conversation.

Alison played with her purse strap as she asked, "Warren was that wise? You know they are going to talk." He looked at the figures on the curb as they disappeared out the back window and wondered if Alison even told them that they were dating. "Would that be so bad?" he asked. "You aren't ashamed to be seen with me are you?" Or is that it exactly? Did she expect to keep him quietly on the side? Sorry, darling Alison, that isn't how this tune goes.

"No, no that's not it, I just like the two of us having our privacy for now. I'm worried about the upcoming show and I don't want it to turn out like last time."

"I see," Warren said, grateful now that she couldn't read minds. Given how they first met, Alison had reason to be frightened. Her ex-manager and boyfriend at the time had outed her onstage as a mutant during her big debut. The crowd went from happy to shocked to angry mob in mere moments. If he hadn't stopped in on a whim that night she might well have ended up dead. Of course she was worried about appearing in the states again with all the anti-mutant sentiment. Even with a cover name, in this case her real name, instead of her stage name of Dazzler, she would still remember the terror of that first night. That was the real reason she looked him up out of the blue, he realized. She wanted the reassurance of his presence, her hero on hand to help her slay any dragons that threatened.

His own fears melted away as he saw Alison as a scared seventeen year old girl again, a singer and a mutant with an amazing talent, sobbing in terror in his arms as he carried her to safety. Moved by the memory, he leaned forward, took her hand, and kissed her fingertips. "Nothing is going to happen," he said as he gave them a little squeeze. "You'll see. I promise." She might not believe him, but she didn't know what he was capable these days. He could lay out an army with the new wings. And he would, to keep her safe.

She squeezed his hand back before leaning back into the cushions and closing her eyes. She seemed to actually be reassured enough to sleep and Warren stayed quiet for the rest of the drive, wondering at the quiet bravery of the woman before him who came back to face her demons with or without him. Her short spiked hair was dyed brown these days, but her blonde eyelashes resting against her cheeks betrayed her. Warren just admired the beauty of the woman before him. They faced dangers and monsters on the field together and had shared intimate talks under the moon and the Australian Cross, yet somehow he still didn't know all of her. In the past he thought that sharing their bodies was about the only barrier left between them, but now? A lot had happened in five years, to both of them. He had slept with a number of women yet he rarely knew any of them, really. Usually a dossier gave him enough insight to wile his way into their pants or skirts and that had been all he wanted except for Candy, and Jean, but she had picked Scott. Dazzler always fascinated him but she didn't seem to want more than friendship in the past. What did she say that first night? "It's hard to believe you really want me, too." Something like that. He thought it nigh impossible for her to not see his interest in her back in Australia. Maybe she thought he teased everyone all the time? He shook his head and quietly said, "You're quite a puzzle, Alison."

But the vehicle slowed and he knew they were likely at their destination. Just as he thought he would have to nudge her awake, she awoke and glanced around her sleepily. As the driver came around to their door she seemed to realize where they were. "Warren! This is, this is…!" She couldn't even say it. Her hand flew to her mouth in surprise and amused him to no end. Got you.

He interjected with, "This is the center of fashion shopping in New York, or at least one of the best known ones. Since you flew in from Europe, I figured you didn't get to bring very many amenities. Allow me to help with that. Go ahead and get whatever you need or want. Just make sure you have at least one formal outfit." He continued as the door opened, "We should take in a Broadway play since you are here. Welcome back home, Alison," he said as warmly as he could and stepped out first to offer her his hands in assistance. This time she accepted. Things were looking better and better.

A familiar face came out of the crowd and joined them. "This is Ms. Anastasia Brooks," Warren said in way of introduction. "She is here to assist you with anything you may need. My driver is at your beck and call for the next few hours."

"You can call me Stacy," Anastasia said to Alison in greeting, shaking her hand.

Suddenly Alison looked over at him and said, "Wait, you're not coming?" confusion coloring her voice.

He shook his head. "You said you were concerned about paparazzi. You go with Stacy, she has access to a special account set up for situations like this."

"Then where will you be?" Alison asked.

"Me?" he replied, smiling at her, "I will be doing what I do best, flying. Have my driver take you to the Gotham when you are done and I will meet you there. Okay?" He stepped forward and gave her a simple peck on the cheek, common enough in Europe among old friends, and he walked away through the crowd. Turning his back on her proved harder than he expected but he knew he left her in capable hands and there was a chance that she might say something to another woman that she wasn't completely comfortable saying directly to him. And anything of import would get brought to his ears, he knew. Now he just needed to have patience, not his best suit these days.

He didn't lie that he planned to go flying. In fact, he got to enjoy precious little of it as of late between work and romance. Exercise was one thing, but nothing replaced the thrill of flying for him. He rounded a corner to an alley and snagged the ladder to a fire escape. Climbing quickly he gained enough height to allow him to clear the corner of the building and stretch his wings out without clipping any power lines and stripped out of his suit coat and shirt. Draping his clothes over his arm he dove off, instinct and training allowing him to keep a tight conformation as he angled to the mouth of the alley. He continued to fall towards the crowds below without fear, his wings responding to his motions, fluidly, almost instinctively to his reactions. Almost.

They were a fraction slower than his real ones had been, and clumsy in comparison. He couldn't easily tuck them under his clothes and go unnoticed as he did in the past. They weren't that flexible. But his natural ones couldn't collapse to half their length or shoot out blades either. And they definitely couldn't take someone's head off at a thought. His old wings were pure white, making him look like an Angel. His new ones looked like steel but they were red. There was blood on his hands now; he was no Angel anymore.

He set his clothes down on a relatively clean spot atop a rarely used business rooftop and took a nip from the flask in the pocket to shove the memory down. They weren't welcome tonight. He had an appointment to keep.

He walked over to the ledge of the roof and let himself fall, snapping his wings out once he cleared the building. He pumped his wings hard to get him to Stark tower where Cypher agreed to meet him. The receptionist gave him a sideward glance at his shirtless condition but called up to Doug's office anyway. Somehow Warren had the sneaking suspicion that she saw shirtless men and worse on a semi-regular basis. Hazard of working for Tony Stark he supposed.

Warren cooled his heels in the lobby, deigning not to sit or lean on the fluffy furniture. As much as he wanted to get off his feet for a moment, it wasn't worth getting yelled at so he did his best to bear it with grace as his family always taught him to do.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal Doug Ramsey a short time later. "Greetings Mr. Worthington. How are the wings working out?" he said without preamble. Warren glanced at the receptionist and Cypher, alert to all forms of patterns quickly said, "Let's discuss it in the lab, shall we?" The pair of them rode up the elevator to the upper floors where testing of flying things, or people, usually went on. "All right, let's get you hooked up."

"I didn't come here to go through a stress test," Warren began.

Doug continued to prep machines and dig out electrodes as he answered, "You came in advance of your appointment. You seem to be healthy enough, therefore, unless you are inviting me to a barbeque, it is 97% likely that you wish to know if your wings are able to handle greater stresses of some kind. And to know that, I need a stress test. Given the lack of your usual banter and your unusual tenseness, I assume you need the answer quickly. So shall we begin?" He turned to Warren holding a pair of electrodes. Sighing Warren stepped onto the treadmill and let him attach them. Sometimes talking to Doug was a real pain. Or not talking to him as the case was.

Quite soon he was off the treadmill and blowing into a breath analyzer to see if his lung capacity could handle the strain of carrying extra weight. "Have you been flying already tonight?" Doug asked, clinically detached already.

"I flew from downtown to here," Warren replied, not bothering to ask why Doug would think otherwise since he arrived shirtless. He probably didn't want to know the answer.

"The chart suggests you should be able to carry up to 200 pounds if gliding and up to 150 pounds without strain for short periods of time. I do not suggest trips longer than 10 minutes using such weights as you do not want to rip the muscles free from the casing of the wings."

Warren shuddered at the thought of what would follow and flashed back to being hung in the Morlock tunnels. He wished he had a drink right now.

Doug stood peering at him. "I said, you are cleared to go. Was their something else?"

"Could I freshen up in your shower?" he asked. There was a shower room both for people doing stress tests and for when people or things caught fire.

"Suit yourself. I believe you left a small travel kit here from your previous visit. Let me know when you are done." Warren showered quickly, leaving his hair alone, and dressed once more. The whole thing took less than an hour and he knew he would have more time to kill.

"Thanks for making time to see me, Doug."

"Always a pleasure, Mr. Worthington. Do you want to ride down or would you prefer to fly?"

"Honestly, I'd rather fly," Warren said, but Doug was already opening the doors to the flight bay.

"I figured as much, given your state of arrival. But I'm told it's "creepy" when I anticipate without including the social mores of conversation. Have a good night, Mr. Worthington. Again, please avoid straining yourself."

Warren nodded at him and stepped into the bay. Once the rear doors shut, the forward ones opened to the night sky. He lifted off and rose up high. Pumping his wings heavily he shot across the sky, feeling them respond to his commands. They opened and closed at his will, but still, a little bit slower, a little less smoothly than his long lost feathered ones. Closing his eyes beneath the moon and stars glittering above the smog of the city, he opened his arms and allowed himself to freefall into the embrace of the air around him. The damp, cold air kissed his skin and felt like an absolution as he fell through the clouds, the wind screaming as he gained momentum. He burst from the cloud cover over the brilliant lights of New York, and still he didn't pull out. Alison was right; they did kind of beckon. He could just keep going. He had no fear and it would be over so fast he knew it wouldn't even hurt. He would be beyond all fear and worry and pain, forever. The day had been pretty wonderful; he could be like a samurai on a perfect day, committing seppuku. But Alison wouldn't understand. He might be ashamed of his past but X-men didn't go down without a fight, whether that fight came from within or without. So as the tops of the tall buildings became level with him, he snapped out his wings to their full and road the thermals back up.

Besides, Alison needed him at her concert. He had at least that long. But after that? All this time and he still didn't know if she would bolt away again without a word, without so much as a goodbye? How can you be so close to someone and still feel like an outsider?

He angled his wings and turned circled the bright spires, giving some late night office worker or hotel visitor a story to share the next day. He didn't care. Love him, hate him, fear him, he didn't care anymore. He was just a man deep down, and his mortality had been driven home to him long ago. Alison could hide being a mutant if she wanted to, but he couldn't anymore even though the bastards took the part that made his mutation worthwhile. He leveled briefly and cut sharply to the left, his anger leaving a taste in his mouth as metallic as his wings.

Diving low he spotted a crouched figure working on a window with a set of lock picks. Bad day for you, bub, he thought as he dove down. The window clicked open and the figure stepped inside. Frustrated, Warren circled. He paused above the building, listening for any screams. Nothing rose, and the thief was soon climbing out the window, a selection of ill-gotten gains cradled in his arms. Warren dived and snagged him by the collar, surprising him into dropping all he had grabbed. Most of it clattered to the fire escape, a few pieces fell and shattered noisily on the hard concrete below. Warren swung the thief onto the rooftop above and landed himself.

His opponent was a man approaching early middle age. He glared up at Warren and wiped his mouth, starting to rise. Warren stepped up and punched him solidly in the gut. Oh, it felt good, too. C'mon you bastard, he thought, make a move.

The man crab-walked backwards away from him and glanced around. There was nowhere for him to hide. Warren advanced on the miscreant. It felt like the old days again. The man rolled onto all fours and bolted towards the fire escape. Warren leapt at him, spun him around, and laid a right hook across his jaw. The man gave a strangled cry and Warren felt a mild sting where his knuckles had managed to scrape across the man's teeth. Damn, he couldn't let Alison see it.

The man curled up into a ball, whimpering, frustrating Warren further. "Get up," Warren said, kicking at the man's calf lightly with a toe.

"Wha' for? Wha'd I ever do to you?" the man's muffled voice said around the sleeve of his arm.

"What you did was decide to rob one of the fine citizens of New York. For that you are going to jail."

The man looked at him with one eye from beneath the tenuous protection of his arms. "Mebbe I broke the law, but that don' mean you got the right to use me as a punching bag. You wanna arrest me? Arrest me. But if you beat me, then you are breakin' the law the same as me. I ain't your punching bag," he said, emphasizing his point. He ducked down and curled up tighter at the rage that filled Warren.

Warren wanted to kick the little shit off the edge of the building, but he was just a petty burglar, not a super villain. Warren backed up several steps and snapped his wings out. The man started to uncurl and wonder at the sudden silence as Warren stuck out a hand and hoisted him by his collar and soared with him across the rooftops. The man flailed a bit and then began making some horking noises and was messily sick over the next rooftop. Disgusted, Warren flew low and slowed down before dropping the puking idiot to the rough surface of the roof. He rolled heavily and fell to all fours continuing to empty the contents of his stomach. G-r-e-a-t. Just how he pictured his return to crime fighting, definitely. When the man finally wound down, Warren leapt up circled the building once and snagged him once more, making sure the fabric would not give way out over the buildings. The last thing he needed was for the guy to wind up plummeting to his death.

Warren's anger had cooled and he took the man to the nearest precinct and dropped him off, explaining where they would find the victims valuables and arranging to answer questions for the officers at his office the next day.

He flew back to where his suit coat and shirt lay and restored himself as best he could and took another swig from the flask to take the bitterness out of his mouth from the whole encounter. He needed to be calm and back in control when he saw Alison. He double-checked his pants and shoes for any signs of vomit but they seemed to have escaped unscathed. Small blessing. He would be cutting it very close to fly home and change before meeting Alison. Stacy knew the maximum time limit and would keep them on track, but Alison might decide to head over early and he needed to be there when she arrived.

He planned to duck into the men's room and clean up his knuckles before meeting her, but when he returned down the fire escape the limousine beat him there and Alison appeared to be looking for him. He brushed at his knuckles to clear off any dirt and to get the skin to look less scraped up, then he pulled out a comb and touched up his hair hurriedly, walking up when it looked like she would go into the building without him.

He walked up, feeling composed and she glanced over and spotted him just as he put away the comb. "Shall we go in?" he asked as he reached her.

"Yeah, sure, let's do that," she said shortly to him, frowning. What happened? Did a salesperson give her a hard time? Maybe he took longer than he thought getting down the fire escape. He had to climb down from the top, as he couldn't land on it from the same point he started from. He looked down at her, sincerely puzzled and hoped he hadn't screwed things up somehow already. He offered his arm to her, taking refuge in chivalry, the armor of men in the ever-shifting world of women. She seemed to soften towards him and took his arm saying, "Sorry, I'm just a little peckish after all that. I'm not quite myself at the moment."

He arranged for them to have dinner so he didn't have Stacy include a refreshments break in the shopping itinerary. Knowing his plans she would have avoided it, but he did not mention that Alison had come from hours of workout with her band. Singing that much was just as taxing as working out at a gym. "Well, you are in luck," he said. "Gotham has the very best in truly American cuisine. I thought you might enjoy finding out what you've been missing all this time."

"Oh, I think I have a good idea of what I've been missing," she responded playfully, making him smile. The hostess led them to the table he had reserved that afternoon. Given his wings, a booth would have been right out of the question. There were so many things he had to plan around them these days. As the hostess left, setting a pair of menus down before she went, Warren pulled out a chair for Alison and carefully adjusted it so she wouldn't be pinched against the table. Then he took his own seat and stared down at the menu as she did. The crabs looked promising after all the flying around he did, but he'd probably need a bit more as well.

He found his reverie broken by Alison saying, "So this is your idea of 'American' cuisine, is it? Squid and octopus, foie gras, Muscovy duck and soft shell crabs?" Then she laughed.

He thought it pretty acceptable, but understood her point. So he smirked at her and said, "They have burgers, and flat iron steak here as well."

"I bet the burger doesn't even have fries with it," she retorted.

He was enjoying bantering with her. "Au contraire, ma sœur, it says fries right here on the menu." That made her laugh again.

"All right, all right, you win, Warren. Fine, that is what I'll have. That and this place's version of the house salad."

Warren gestured for their server and could smell the fear on him. He had an unhealthy fascination with his wings and after dealing with so many anti-mutant assailants he figured it was even odds that this guy could be a member of one of the hate groups. He didn't let on and just placed their orders. Then the fellow became even more nervous as he realized they had been given lunch menus instead of the dinner ones.

Appearing to look at the menu, Warren deftly fished out his wallet and laid a hundred dollar bill into the menu before handing it back to the man. "Don't worry about it, we're more than willing to pay dinner prices for them." He made sure the server got the hint without letting Alison see the bribe. Most people would let greed overcome even hate, at least for a little while. As long as the man didn't ruin the moment tonight, he didn't care if he dealt with him in less pleasant circumstances tomorrow. But just not tonight.

The man brightened considerably and agreed that the chef would probably be fine with that. He left and Warren flagged down the wine steward. "I'd like a Californian white to go with dinner, since we are toasting 'American' cuisine tonight. Do you want a cocktail or something, Alison?" he asked solicitously.

She declined with a simple, "No, no thank you. I'd rather have a vanilla mint tisane if that's okay."

The wine steward replied to her, "That's no problem, I'll let your server know and he'll have it out to you shortly." At least this woman knew her job and could think on her feet. Warren wished he were tipping her instead. Just as she left to fill their order, Warren saw the concierge coming up. He knew what that meant. He conferred with the man quietly and rose quickly to follow. "Alison, I need to take this call. I will be right back." He strode out to the waiting area, out of sight of the dining room and rather than taking a turn to the phones, he looked around until he spotted Stacy and walked up to her. "So?" he asked simply.

"She picked out a champagne colored, satin evening dress for the show and she was admiring these at the counter at Tiffany's so I went back and purchased them for you after she left. I hope I haven't arrived too late," she said handing over a small box and removing a large, intricately wrought bracelet of gold olive leaves.

"No, you were just in time, Stacy. Thanks. He gave her a quick hug on impulse and heard a sudden click from nearby. He looked around, but no one else seemed to notice or let on so he brushed it off as likely being the sound of a phone being replaced into its cradle. Giving a quick goodbye, Warren secreted the gifts in handy pockets that he had in all his vests and jackets and returned to the table.

A server stood passing out steaming plates of food as he arrived and he thanked them and returned to his place. Things were going perfectly. They both started in on the meal and Alison admitted that the food here was better than she expected and he grinned at her. They shared the rest of the meal in silence, both absorbed in the food, hungry after a long day. Suddenly she set down her fork and straightened her shoulders, not meeting his gaze. This was trouble if he ever saw it. Time for plan b.

"Warren," she began, "there's something we should discuss."

"Sure, sure," he interjected quickly, keeping his voice light. "Just try these soft-shelled crabs first." She sighed and reached a hand out to take the fork he proffered to her. As she did he reached his other hand into his pocket and brought out the bracelet, placing it into the reaching hand in place of the fork.

Her eyes lit up a bit at the sight saying, "What? How? Warren, where did you get this?" Her frustration and topic forgotten.

"That call I took was from Stacy. She was dropping it off for me so I could present it to you properly. I do hope you like it," Warren said.

Flustered a bit she replied, "Well of course I do, it's gorgeous, but Warren, you didn't have to…"

"Of course I didn't have to," he said, cutting in again. It wasn't very gentleman like, but he had an agenda after all. "And I'm glad to hear that because I have this for you as well." Warren reached into the ring pocket for the small box and walked over to the back of her chair. He lifted the delicate gold chain and pendant free and held it out before her so she could see it clearly as he brought it in slowly to clasp around her neck. The last thing he wanted to do was to bump her nose or her hair. But he knew how to present such things without difficulty, or at least he did. The knowledge was dusty but didn't fail him.

"So? Do you like it?" he asked, but went on without waiting for an answer. "I'm told it will go very well with an I'm told it will go very well with an outfit you picked out today. I hope to take you out to Broadway soon; you pick the show. Will you wear them for me?" He walked around sideways to avoid hitting her with his wings and crouched down beside her. It was difficult to reject someone in a physical position that was submissive. So it tended to work in favor of the one assuming the pose as long as they didn't act overly submissive. And it also called to mind engagements although he avoided the classic "bending the knee" pose. He didn't want to scare her off, quite the opposite. And it might be a bit of a cold-hearted play but the whole thing was too important to him to leave up to chance.

She looked down into his eyes, her blue eyes holding no guile. "Of course I will, and yes, I love them, they are beautiful. But really, Warren, you don't have to go to such lengths. And I have no way to repay you or reciprocate."

Warren held her hand in both of his and looked up into her bright blue eyes, his gaze not wavering, and said, "Alison, you are in no way a burden to me, if that is what you are thinking. These things cannot begin to compare to the gift of having you here in my life, right now. You make me happy, and I…" his throat closed up on him, his emotions taking over and pouring the pain and loneliness of the past five years into him once more. He fought to clear his voice; this needed to be said regardless of how much it took for him to say it. "I haven't known what that was for a very long time. I thought it was enough just to be able to fly again. But you? You make my world complete. I asked you to stay, and I meant it." Unable to resist any longer he reached up a hand and touched the side of her face and nearly cried when she laid her check into it. "Having you in my life again has been wonderful. I don't know how to show you what that means to me, it's been so long. Just know that it means the world." He slowly rubbed his finger along her cheek before reluctantly drawing it away. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it once, lightly. "I love you, Alison. Just know that." He managed to return to his seat and resettled his napkin to keep his hands from shaking. Taking a deep breath he put a smile on for her and looked up and simply said, "So, let's finish our meals shall we?" She smiled back at him and he was grateful to be sitting down as he would have fallen after his emotional speech to her. In truth, he had fallen, fully, madly, and deeply for her already. But she had yet to say as much to him. She loved his gift. But she didn't say she loved him.

The limousine dropped them off at his penthouse and Alison began to walk toward the front doors as they usually did. Warren reached out and gently grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop. She turned, surprised and he said, "No wait, I want to show you something." And scooped her up in his arms and swept out his wings to their full extent and strained to lift them both from a solid standstill. The metal wings beat the air and his muscles burned from the effort but they lifted off and he was soon clear of the treetops and able to level out and float along with her, his wings making a few beats every so often as the circled the building. He carried her up to the upper floors as she watched the world falling away below them. She stayed relaxed in his arms, trusting him completely. He touched down on the outdoor garden terrace that led to his bedroom. Then he set her down, a bit reluctantly as he wished the moment together could have been longer. He truly was made for flying.

"I've been wanting to do that forever, but I had to get clearance to try having a passenger. That's why I left you to shop alone. I needed some time to see if my muscles felt strong enough to do this again. I really, really hate having to take the elevator," he confided.

Alison smiled at him and came to him, laying her arms with exaggerated care over his shoulders, letting him know she knew what she was doing and said, "It has been a long time since you last took me for a ride, fly-boy." All the uncomfortable moments of the evening were lost, he felt her pressed up against him and could smell her perfume, something new, probably bought by him. And suddenly he wanted to have his body as close to her as her perfume, to have his sweat merged with hers, and to show her why they should never part. Oh yes, he had a plan. If he could keep control long enough to enact it. Consider it the training course of a lifetime, Warren. You can't afford to fail now.

All those thoughts passed in a single moment inside her embrace. "It has, hasn't it?" he replied. "Nearly 12 hours, I should remedy that!"

Alison gasped in mock dismay, "You are so bad, Mr. Worthington!"

He put an arm around her, spreading his finger to support her as he suddenly dipped her low. "I told you, I'm no Angel anymore." Oh, you have no idea yet Alison, he thought. He crouched low and swept her off her feet, carrying her into his bedroom, nearly tearing the gauze curtains, as he brushed against them sideways. He wouldn't have cared but that Alison still seemed to want their tenuous protection from prying eyes. He managed to flick them off with a light wing shrug and then he gazed down upon the perfection that lay in his arms and his heart racing, he carried her to the bed, setting her down with care.

Never taking his eyes off of her he undid the catches to his jacket and shirt and pulled his tie loose so that he could lift them free easily. He paused only long enough to smooth them out and lay them out neatly on the single bed. The better to make you see the blue blood in me, my dear, he thought. He took up his stance once more. He continued to watch her face, gauging every little reaction, his senses kicking into high gear as though he were heading into danger instead of something very different. His pants and underpants came off together as soon as he loosened his belt. He removed the last vestiges of his clothes with the efficiency of having trained for years to switch into costume quickly to go into battle. And usually he had worn a harness as well to strap his wings down. So to match the time it took the others to change, he actually had to be faster than any of them. Surprising how things work out sometimes, he thought with a touch of amusement.

He straightened to his full height before advancing to where she sat on the bed. He leaned against her and gathered her in his arms, holding her, kissing her, tasting her, memorizing her. Then he knelt before her and pulled off her shoes and stockings as he contemplated the short, black leather and cashmere skirt she wore and decided to leave it on as he worked her undergarments free. He took his time with her, ignoring his own needs, focusing all of his attention on her. He ran his hands slowly up her legs and began pushing against the skirt with his palms, the fabric clinging to his hands, riding up a bit as he wanted it to without breaking the motion. His hands lifted just enough to allow them to continue their journey along her patchwork-patterned top. He stopped for a moment and rubbed a bit of the fabric close to her arm in a thumb and forefinger, contemplating the choice and its sensuous feeling against the skin. "Hmm, angora, Eh? I think it suits you." He ran his hands over her chest and then down her sides, kissing her all the while. His hands drifted lower and he finished hiking the skirt back out of the way and as he felt Alison's kisses hesitate, clearly wondering what he had in mind. He slid down her body until he knelt on the floor and he leaned forward and ran his tongue along her inner thigh. He felt her curl and writhe at the sensation, but he stayed with her and didn't let her pull away.

He reached behind her, his hands against the back of her hips, allowing his fingers to support the small of her back as he carefully slid her forward to make it easier for him to continue. But her thrashing could cause her legs to kick out against his wings, so he compensated by laying his arms over her thighs and bearing down with his elbows. It hurt some, he knew, but with his body filling the gap and his wings as pulled back as he could get them, she was safe from real injury. Besides, he planned to make it up to her, and began to draw on the knowledge he had saved up from long ago to drive her wild. But all good things in time. He heard her whimper first in pain and then in inarticulate pleasure as he continued. She was right where he needed her to be so he risked moving his hands from supporting her back to touching her chest and then he ran them a bit lower, pushing with gentle insistence until she laid back on the comforter and he lifted his arms away so that the pain wouldn't mar the experience he led her toward.

He set his hands against her legs and set them in such a way that she could not escape his ministrations nor cut herself on accident. And still he continued until she came, then and only then did he cease to tease her with his tongue and instead rose to his feet and finally let loose his own desires. He drug her forward against him, aware of her every move. Then he pulled back as far as he dared and met her again and again. "Oh, Warren," she gasped as he continued a new wave building up inside her. He held to his pace, and closed his eyes to keep himself focused as motes of light began to rise off of her. He fought against his own desire, intent on giving her a night to remember. She shuddered again, and he opened his eyes to see her whole body trembling and sweat now a sparkling sheen as Dazzler's lights touched them and danced across the ceiling.

He leaned in close and she rose up against him, her body curving into a bow, as if to keep from being washed away in the tidal wave of sensation rushing through her and into him. Her calves pressed against his back, encouraging him even as he continued, speeding up now to adapt to her rising need. "Hang in there, Dazzler, not just yet," he whispered. He slipped his arms around her back to cradle her as he adjusted his rhythm again. Her only answers were soft, mindless whimpers. She lay her head against his chest, as though she could take no more, but he wasn't quite done with her yet. His hand came up to stroke her hair and he whispered gentle shushing sounds to promise her it would be okay, but his own words had run out along with his time and suddenly he was filling her, one with her so completely that he groaned and nearly fell atop of her. Instead, he lowered himself as gently as he could, lying still staying with her until her cries receded.

He let some of his weight fall onto his left arm, but he couldn't hold himself up properly. He had given all of himself to her tonight and held nothing back. He prayed it would be enough. Stay, please Alison, stay the litany repeated in his head as his head bowed to her chest. They lay panting, sweat rolling off their sides, when Alison spoke up gasping out, "It's…it's not so bad."

He couldn't believe his ears! "What?" He managed to force out between pants. "All you can say is that it's 'not that bad'?!"

Halfway through he realized she must be joking and couldn't deny that it was a good line.

"Not that, silly," she replied, laughing breathily. Not that? What in the heck else could she be thinking about at a time like this? "Your weight, it's not that bad, even with the wings."

"Oh?" he responded in surprise, his voice suddenly sober.

"Here, let me see," she said, and pulled at him so he let her and gently let his weight settle fully upon her. His eyes watched her face for any signs of pain or strain. He didn't want to end the night on a bad note. But she gasped out, "Nope, it's really not that bad. You weigh about the same as a regular body builder these days, I think." He wanted to ask her how she knew what the weight of the average body builder felt like but kept his mouth shut. "You always were a lightweight, Warren, if I remember right. It wasn't that hard to pull you off the field when you got injured. Didn't you tell me something about your bones, a long time ago?"

Warren shifted his weight back to his arm as much as he could and ran a finger along her belly up to the sternum, stalling a bit before answering. "Yeah, my mutation isn't just my wings. I have hollow bones, like a bird, for flight and my eyes can handle the high wind speeds as well."

"Well there you go then," Alison said, as she ran a finger over his lips. He lunged and gave it a playful nip, making her laugh. "You've reached normal human mass. Maybe a bit on the higher end of the scale, but certainly not worse."

"That's kind of good to know. I really didn't want to wind up hurting you sometime." He kissed her finger as she drew it away.

"You were really worried about hurting me?" she asked, her voice filled with more wondering surprise than he liked.

"Of course, I love you Alison. You are the bright light in my life right now. I don't want to do anything to hurt you," he affirmed. Who or what made you even need to ask such a question, sweet Alison? He wondered.

"Hmm," she said in a thoughtful tone at last. "Well, I don't think that's and issue tonight. Let's get some sleep okay?" She smiled at him and he smiled at her in return before scooting across to the far side of the bed so he could give his wings room to hang. He watched her, the few feet of mattress separating them seeming to be an impossible gulf. She stayed, but she still hadn't told him she loved him. He couldn't push, love was not a thing that could be rushed or ordered up, but his heart squeezed tight as he watched her drift off to sleep. He gave her all he had to give and still he didn't know if he would wake up alone. Sleep came at last, but it was fitful and he kept coming awake suddenly and glancing over to see if she was still there. Oh Warren, what the hell are you going to do if she decides to go? He stole one more glance at her and admitted to himself, he didn't know. He had no plan for that contingency at all, and the idea of a future without her scared him. Sleep finally pulled him down. But it didn't last.


End file.
